


Before Definition

by Aetherrr



Category: Casanova (TV 2015), Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:27:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28109319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aetherrr/pseuds/Aetherrr
Summary: Not native speaker so there might be some mistakes in this article (> _ <) apologies inadvanceThe original(Chinese) version will be shown in chapter2
Relationships: Giacomo Casanova/Eleventh Doctor, Tenth Doctor/Giacomo Casanova





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not native speaker so there might be some mistakes in this article (> _ <) apologies inadvance
> 
> The original(Chinese) version will be shown in chapter2

Giacomo Casanova was still holding the chicken in his arms when the man appeared in the impenetrable night. The chicken was not his rightful property: he had stolen it when the old Slovenian lady was not looking. Of course he knew it was wrong to steal, but he was too hungry.

The ribs looming on the sides of his body were shaped like failed specimens of scientists. And, indeed, he was a failure to his parents.

The man bent down and took the poor hen from his hand. Why would he give up precious food with no revolting? Was he scared by the faint odor of the man or bewitched by sweet nothings the man nattered? Casanova couldn’t remember.

Three voices broke that night. His incredibly clear claim: “you owe me a chicken”, the man’s laugh, and the ticks.

Years later, Casanova might forget the weight of the chicken, the man’s comically dishevelled face, even the hunger that came from deep inside his body.   
But the ticking, the two regular sound waves that came from the man’s chest were deeply embed in his mind.

He asked, why do you have two different heartbeats?  
Because I have two hearts. The man replied.

He cannot recall anymore after this dialogue. His eyelids were crushed by the man’s heartbeats. Then he had a bizarre dream. He dreamed weird old man and a greased chicken.

Such encounter was Casanova’s once upon a time. When it took place, there were still times long for Casanova became Casanova.  
It sounds strange, what else could the boy be except Casanova？  
Well, the four-syllable surname will be endowed tones of definitions in the future: lover, writer, explorer, libertine or shameless man. In conclusion, the name itself will become a legend, and will cover up all the night tales -- including the night’s tale.   
But at this particular time, it was just a meaningless code. A code for a skinny boy who lived in a old Slovenian lady’s house. A code for the boy who always dreaming.

Another tricky truth has to be told in advance: the birth of Casanova -- the defined one -- was not instantaneous. It was a constant motion.

Casanova became himself for the first time in a dusty little room. A stream of nosebleed ran down his lips. Crossing his weedy chest through his collar. Sketching his skeleton. He had a vague sense that something was going to happen.

The older maid spat on the rag, then wipe the dirt off his body, cleaned up the nosebleed. But Casanova thought: what if he had a nosebleed in his head like the teacher said? Isn’t the blood gonna occupy his brain forever? 

The just-disappeared smell of blood resurfaced in his horrible image. Then the fishy-like smell was released from the reveries, progressively invaded the limited indoor space. The forbearing odor overcame the foul mark of drool on the tip of his nose, crept permeated his senses.

The maid lifted one of his legs, the bottom of his trousers, felt up slowly. He know that something was coming, something was breaking through the earth. He shivered, either because the maid touched his thigh or because of the smell of blood he imagined.

“Do you want to go on?” She asked.

These words set off a fireball of dynamite. He trembled, got goose pimples as the shards of it crackled in front of his eyes. He gasped, his eyes tinged with excitement and fear. He opened and closed his mouth again and again, suddenly felt as if he had never spoken before. He shouted as he feels the on coming storm, as he breaks free from his prison -- 

Boom. 

Between the maid’s lips, Giacomo Casanova was born for the first time.  
He would be born many times. When he dressing blue satin. When the nobility punched him. When he cheated. When he breathed. When he smiled. He became Casanova for million times. He felt the joy of birth every moment.   
Everything in the world made him feel alive. He lived by his lover’s bed, by aristocratic gossip, by the moan of a woman’s orgasm, by every golden mutinous dawn.  
Giacomo Casanova was a discarded white silk which scattered in the shape of a blooming flower. He was the rotten Adonis, a paper narcissus reddened with fetal blood. 

Occasionally, he would dream those two different heartbeats, wondering if the man was real, but he never thought he would come back.

The mansion at the end of main street is flanked by a footpath, which usually picked by the cheaters. Casanova kissed a madam’s fair cheek to goodbye, leaped into the path of her husband’s curses, and collided with the man who owed him a chicken.

The man’s striped shirt was stained with the lip gloss that the lady had left on Casanova’s lips. He looked down with abashed expression, saw the red paint mixed with glitter. Casanova looked at him in amazement: after so much time, so much so that Casanova had been reborn hundreds times, the man were barely old at all.

The old Slovenian woman had fallen into the long sleep on decayed wooden rocking chairs. Emaciated starving boys were shaded as a memory of past. But the man with two hearts didn’t change, like he never left that night.

That night, Casanova thought the man would be back soon. He waited. He dreamed. When the dream elapsed, he waited for once again. As the black sky faded, he realized that he had waited for a dawn, but not for the man.   
He noticed it was at exactly 8:00 a.m. This means that before 8 a.m. , Casanova used to eagerly anticipate something -- the chicken, the man or the double heartbeats.

“Hey, ” Casanova said, “you owe me a chicken, remember?” 

The man was confused, but then the animal that growled from somewhere else saved him from embarrassing. The man raised an eyebrow, began to be anxious: “This kind of thing later, you help me to find a chicken first. ”

“What --” Before Casanova getting the full sentence, the man took his wrist and dragged him ran off into the much more intense night.

The man -- Doctor said he was looking for a creature that looked like a chicken. Be careful, though, because that creature always appears before the human timeline, so if you see it --

“Like seeing the florescent narcissus before it blossoming?” Casanova said.

“What Metaphor is that? ” Doctor said, with unutterable affection,“You cannot see a burst flower that has not bloomed just like you cannot see things that do not exist yet or will happened in the future -- shamans claimed they can but actually no they were over-confident -- anyway, if your narcissus has not been observed or the wave function has not collapsed, then you can not see it. Plus, the creature does not look like a narcissus. ”

Casanova helped Doctor to find everything he needed -- majority of them was used to repair his device which could determine the creature he want. They said more things to make each other laugh. They went to places together to search for the chicken creature (Casanova insisted it should be called a narcissus). 

His last memory of that night was when Doctor grabbed the device and ran towards the roar. Doctor looked back at Casanova, who was leaning against a wall, waving at him and reminded him to pay his debt.

Then Casanova heard screams, but they could not mask the double beating of hearts in the deeper shades. 

When the sound of two hearts beating methodically came from profundity of the dim light of night, slowly, Casanova felt that he was experiencing another reborn.

——

“I knew that was the last time I would see him. ” The aging lover ended his story.  
“Then why are you waiting?” Edith asked.  
“Sometimes people wait but do not expect results, ” Casanova said, “sometimes it’s just a mean of consolidating memories with regret. Waiting itself is the end. ”

His vision blurred, but his eyes were not cloudy. As Casanova’s only audience in his envoi, Edith never took her eyes off the sly grin on the white-haired man’s face.

A frail figure laid on the bed, and the young man, with his usual light step, came up behind her and bent down, lifting Edith’s chin to show her the narrow sky prisoned in the window.

Casanova smiled and whispered near her ear: “Waiting is the meaning. I am the meaning. ”

As tears filled her eyes, Edith could make out the man’s eyelids on the bed shivered, like a weak wink. What she didn’t notice was that, it was exactly 8:00 a.m. when the wink accomplished. 

——

As soon as he landed in Venice, Doctor found a pile of tawny feathers on the Tardis floor. He asked the Ponds if they had any contraband on the Tardis but got negative answers. Sullenly, Doctor sat with his legs swinging for a long time, looking at the most common fowl feather on earth.

Chicken feathers. Sometimes, as with all things mysterious, Doctor takes it as complications of time travel. His peripheral vision caught sight of Amy and Rory’s clock on the wall: eight o’clock exactly.

By the sharpness of this moment, he suddenly recalled his debt. Is this what happened to Casanova? Doctor wondered. What did he do? He sure that even the libertine just blinked, the whole Venice would fall into some kind of fanaticism.

Doctor’s last guess was correct, but he missed one thing. He didn’t realize that he’s been regenerated. The searing heat burned his jacket, tie, and striped shirt with lipstick. Now the two beating hearts of that night were the only things that relative to Casanova in this body. Therefore the announcement could be publicize: the Doctor is dead.

The dead Timelord saw Casanova’s blink for the last time in 145 years: that was the last time he reborn to Casanova.

“...Oh, I still owe Casanova a chicken.” murmured the Doctor.

But he quickly realized that not only the adventurer had not yet been defined but also the scrawny boy still was a speck of dust in the universe.   
In 1580, Doctor called out the defined name before it existing. He saw the florescent narcissus without blossoming.

end.


	2. Chapter 2

男人出现在密不透风的夜色中时，卡萨诺瓦还紧紧抱着怀中的那只鸡。

鸡的来历不怎么正当，那是他趁着斯洛文尼亚老太太不注意时偷来的。他当然知道偷盗是错的，可他实在是太饿了。

前胸贴后背，身体两侧隐约浮现的肋骨形状像制作标本时的失败品。他也确实是他父母的失败品。

那个男人弯腰从他手中拿走了可怜的母鸡。他那是为什么会放弃到嘴的食物？是因为那个男人身上隐约的腥味还是他那一嘴哄人的漂亮话呢，卡萨诺瓦不记得了。

那天的夜晚承载过三种声音。他清晰到不可思议的“你欠我一只鸡”、男人的笑声、还有滴答声。

很多年后，卡萨诺瓦记不住那只鸡的重量，忘记了男人看上去有些滑稽邋遢的脸庞，甚至会遗弃身体深处传来的饥饿感。

可他不会忘记滴答声，从男人胸膛传来的那两道规律的声波。

他问男人，为什么你有两种心跳？

因为我有两颗心脏。男人回答。

两颗心脏。卡萨诺瓦想。那听上去不错，听上去很强壮，听上去不必为了不被饿死而偷鸡。

后来的事他再也记不住了。眼皮被两种心跳压垮，他做了个离奇的梦。梦中有古怪的老人与刷上油的烤鸡。

这次相遇发生在太久太久之前，久到卡萨诺瓦还不是卡萨诺瓦。

这话听上去很奇怪，卡萨诺瓦难道还能是别的什么吗？

这四个音节组成的名字在日后将会被赋予许许多多的意义：情圣、文学家、探险家、浪荡子、无耻的男人。一言以蔽之，这个名字本身将会成为传奇，会掩盖所有的人性和秘辛。

可彼时，它还只是一个普通的名字，一个代号，用来称呼被寄养在斯洛文尼亚老太太家中，总是吃不饱饭的消瘦男孩。

除此之外，还有个令人难以理解的事实需要提前告知：卡萨诺瓦——被定义了的那个卡萨诺瓦——的诞生并不是瞬时的。它是个持续发生的动作。

卡萨诺瓦第一次成为他自己，是在满是灰尘的小房间里。鼻血流过了他的嘴唇，顺着领子划过他没什么肉的胸膛，临摹着他的骨架。他隐隐觉得有什么事要发生了。

那个比他年长的女佣往抹布上啐了口唾沫，帮他拭擦他身上脏兮兮的地方。沾着唾沫的抹布把他流出来的鼻血吸走了，但卡萨诺瓦想，如果真的和教授说的一样，他连脑子里都充满鼻血怎么办？那不是永远吸不干净吗？

腥味挣脱了遐想，在有限的空间内蔓延开。这股隐忍的气味击败了口水在他鼻尖下留下的难闻痕迹，徐徐占据他的所有感官。

女佣抬起他的一条腿，掀开裤脚，慢慢往上摸索。他感到有什么事要发生，有什么东西正在破土而出。他的身体在战栗，可能是因为女佣碰到了他的大腿，也可能是因为想象里的血腥味。

“你想让我继续吗？”女佣问。

这话像是引燃炸药的火光，无数的碎片在他眼前噼里啪啦地炸开，他浑身颤抖，起了鸡皮疙瘩。他喘着气，眼中流露着兴奋又害怕的色彩。他张开嘴，突然觉得自己从来没说过话似的结巴了。他感受着即将来临的风雨、快要冲破牢笼的贪欲，大声喊叫——

砰。

在女佣的唇齿间，卡萨诺瓦第一次诞生了。

他还会诞生许多次：在穿上蓝色绸缎的时候，被贵族们一拳打到鼻梁上的时候，行骗的时候，喘息的时候，微笑的时候。他一次又一次成为卡萨诺瓦，他一次又一次体会到诞生的快乐。

世间的一切都叫他感到切身地活着。他活在情人的床边，活在贵族间的流言里，活在女子高潮时的呻吟间，活在每个破晓时分。

卡萨诺瓦是白色绢布，被随意丢弃，却散成盛开的花朵的模样。他是糜烂的阿多尼斯，是被胎血浸红的纸蔷薇。

他偶尔也会在睡梦里听到那两道不同的心跳，思索着那个男人是否真实存在，但他从来没想过那个男人还会再次出现。

主街尽头的宅邸旁有一条小道，通常是偷情者逃跑的最佳路线。卡萨诺瓦同夫人白皙的脸颊吻别，在丈夫的咒骂声中跳进小道，和欠他一只鸡的男人撞到一起。

那个男人的条纹衬衫甚至沾上了夫人留在卡萨诺瓦唇边的唇彩。对方低头看到掺杂着闪粉的红色颜料，表情一言难尽。

卡萨诺瓦惊讶地看着他，这个男人在如此漫长的时间里——漫长到卡萨诺瓦已经无数次获得新生——几乎没有一点老去的迹象。

斯洛文尼亚老太太早就长眠在朽掉的木摇椅上，吃不饱饭的瘦弱男孩也已经是过去的回忆。但拥有两颗心脏的男人没有变化，就像他从未走出那个夜晚。

那个夜晚，卡萨诺瓦以为男人很快就会回来。他热切地等待着。直到天光逐渐泛白，他意识到他等来了黎明，但没有等到男人回来。

他意识到这件事是在早上八点整。这意味着在早上八点来临前，卡萨诺瓦曾热切地期盼过某件事——他不知道他具体的期待。是那只鸡？还是那个男人？还是对方胸膛里诡秘的心跳？

“嘿，”卡萨诺瓦说，“你还欠我只鸡，记得吗？”

那个男人更迷惑了，但这时，从别处传来动物的嘶吼。男人扬起眉毛，焦急起来：“天，这种事等会儿再说，你先帮我找到一只鸡。”

“什么？”卡萨诺瓦还没问出完整的句子，就被男人拉着手腕，一起往更深的夜里跑去。

他差点要以为男人和他是同一类人——他从丈夫们手中逃跑的速度都没有男人跑得快。

博士，那个男人说他要找一种像鸡的生物。但必须小心，因为那种生物总会出现在人类的时间线之前，所以如果看到了它——

“哦，就看到了在未来盛开的水仙？”卡萨诺瓦说。

“你那是什么比喻？”博士再次露出一言难尽的神情，“你不能看到一朵没有盛开的花，它没有被观测，波函数没有坍缩，你看不到的。再说了，那东西长得也不像水仙。”

卡萨诺瓦帮着博士找齐了他需要的东西——大多是用来修补他的仪器的。他们又说了些话让彼此发笑，又一起去了一些地方寻找鸡形生物（卡萨诺瓦坚称它应该叫做水仙）。

他关于那晚最后的记忆，是博士抓着仪器往吼叫声处跑去。他回头看了看卡萨诺瓦，后者靠在一堵墙上，冲他挥挥手，让他记得还债。

卡萨诺瓦听到惊叫、嘶吼，但它们都无法掩盖从更深的夜色里传来的心跳。

两颗心有条不紊地跳动着的声音自深深处传来。慢慢的，卡萨诺瓦感受到自己又一次成为了卡萨诺瓦。

“那时我就知道，这是我最后一次和那个男人相见。”已经老去的情圣结束了他的故事。

“那你为什么还要等待？”伊迪丝问。

“有时人们等待，却并不期望结果。”卡萨诺瓦说，“有时等待只是用遗憾巩固记忆。等待本身就是意义。”

他视线模糊，眼神却并不浑浊。她作为卡萨诺瓦晚年的唯一听众，仔细注视白发老人笑容里的狡黠。

一副衰老的躯体躺在床榻上，英俊的青年则一如既往迈着轻盈的步伐，走到她身后弯下腰，抬起伊迪丝的下巴，让她看窗户里的狭窄天空。

卡萨诺瓦嬉笑着在她耳边呢喃：“等待就是意义。我就是意义。”

泪水盈满眼眶时，伊迪丝隐约看到床上那个人眼皮动了动，像是在眨眼。她没有注意到，现在是早上八点整。

刚降落在威尼斯，博士就发现Tardis地板上落下了一大堆黄褐色的羽毛。他问庞德夫妇有没有带违禁品上Tardis，得到了否定的回答。博士闷闷不乐地把脚伸出时间机器的门，甩着腿坐了许久，才端详出这是地球上最普通的家禽的羽毛。

哦，鸡的羽毛。有时也会发生这样令人摸不清楚的状况，博士全当是时间旅行的并发症。他的余光瞄到了艾米和罗伊挂在墙上的钟：八点整。

通过这个时刻的提示，他总算想起了他背负的债务。博士疑惑地猜测，这难道是卡萨诺瓦发生了什么事吗？他做了什么？又或许他只是眨了眨眼？

博士最后的猜测是正确的，但他忽略了一件事。他没有意识到他已经重生了。

炙热的能量烧毁了他的外套、领带和沾有口红的条纹衬衫。他身体中和卡萨诺瓦相关的事物只剩下那个夜晚里不停跳动的两颗心脏。所以我们大可以宣布，博士也已经死去了。

而已经死去的博士看到了145年后卡萨诺瓦的最后一次眨眼：那是他最后一次成为卡萨诺瓦。

“卡萨诺瓦......哦，我还欠卡萨诺瓦一只鸡。”

博士喃喃自语。

但他迅速地反应过来，此时此刻冒险家还没有出生。别说被定义了的卡萨诺瓦，就连那个瘦小的男孩都还不知道是宇宙里的哪一堆尘埃。

1580年，博士先于卡萨诺瓦的存在叫出了已经被定义的名字。他看到了没有绽放的水仙。

END.


End file.
